


i don't wanna dance if i'm not dancing with you

by wildandfluorescent



Category: Teen Power Inc | Raven Hill Mysteries - Emily Rodda
Genre: F/M, in a perfect world i wouldn't be writing stuff like this tbh, in a perfect world maybe, tbh i should probably stop naming half my fics after taylor swift lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:06:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3504452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildandfluorescent/pseuds/wildandfluorescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strangers. Friends. Best Friends. Lovers. Strangers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i don't wanna dance if i'm not dancing with you

**i.**

For the first seven years of her life, Richelle Brinkley has absolutely no idea who Thomas Moysten is. She’s seen him around, of course; Raven Hill Public is a relatively small school and her grade has less people than usual. She vaguely knows everybody by face, even if she doesn’t know them by name.

So she’s always been somewhat aware of him. He’s the tallest kid in their class, and in pre-school, kindergarten & first grade, that’s a pretty big deal. He likes to paint and his hair is always messy. He seems to fall over every other day in the playground and he doesn’t seem capable of eating his food like a normal person. She also  _thinks_  that his name begins with T, but she’s not sure.

And she also doesn’t care that much. It’s not as if Richelle hates her classmates (she’s only seven, and she doesn’t have the energy to hate forty-something kids), but she simply doesn’t care for them. Tall, messy, painter kid whose name may-or-may-not begin with T is no exception. She’s pretty sure she cares for him less, because he always looks awful and seems quite mean.

Richelle’s certain that she could have gone through the rest of her school life never speaking more than a few words to Thomas Moysten, if it hadn’t been for Elizabeth Free.

**ii.**

When she’s seven years old and halfway through first grade, Richelle’s only friend decides they need more. The blonde isn’t quite sure why; Liz can be overly enthusiastic and tiring but she’s sweet and is good at taking care of things. Richelle is perfectly fine with only being friends with her for the next few years.

But Liz loves people, and she’s decided that they need at least one other member in their group.

They sit together on the playground one day, Richelle smoothing out the creases in her uniform skirt, whilst her companion scans their immediate area for someone that she deems nice enough to join their duo.

After about five minutes of silence whilst Liz looks around for somebody (in which time Richelle’s moved on to tightening the ribbon around her braids), she suddenly jumps to her feet, impatiently tugging at Richelle’s shirt to get her to follow.

“What about him?” Liz whispers when they’re both standing, pointing across to the sand pit to tall, messy, painter kid who’s name may-or-may-not-begin with T. Richelle frowns. Although she hasn’t even bothered to learn his name, he seems relatively well liked. He’s usually seen with someone, although he doesn’t appear to have consistent friends. She doesn’t really see why Liz picked him out of everyone.

“He has friends,” she replies with a sigh, tugging gently at one of her plaits. It’s not exactly a lie.

“But he’s been so sad lately,” Liz protests, biting her lip “I don’t like it when people are sad.”

And, as if that decides it, she starts making her way to the sand pit, leaving Richelle with the choice to either follow or look like a friendless loser. She picks the former.

When she finally manages to catch up to Liz, her friend is finishing up her speech, beaming at the boy.

“…wanted to see if you wanted to play with us.”

The boy is silent for several seconds, and Richelle notices that he does look… _sadder_ than usual. He’s usually smiling or laughing, and she can’t remember a time when she’s actually seen him on his own. For several seconds, she feels bad for him.

Until she notices the vegemite on his shirt collar.

But he’s started to nod, and Liz is grinning, and somehow, Richelle finds herself being forced into a trio.

“I’m Tom,” he says, and she’s pleased to hear that she remembered the first letter of his name.

“I’m Liz,” her best (and formerly only) friend replies, before reaching for Richelle’s arm “And this is Richelle.”

Because when you’re seven years old, it doesn’t take much to form a friendship.

**iii.**

If you had asked Richelle Brinkley what she expected to be doing when she was twenty-two years old, she wouldn’t have said “helping Tom Moysten move into his new apartment whilst his weird music of bands that have awful names plays from an iPod dock.”

Dumping a box that had nothing but  _Stuff_  scrawled upon it on the carpeted floor, she glanced around the place with a frown. It was small, dusty, and kind of smelt like wet dog. She could never imagine why anybody would ever want to live here.

Hearing Tom enter the apartment behind her, she turned to face him “I don’t see why you chose to live here, of all places.”

“Because I’m a broke guy in his twenties that can’t afford to feel picky.”

She rolled her eyes, sitting on top of a box labelled  _Books,_ before glancing up at him. Gone was the tall, messy, painter kid – he was still all of these things, but he’d grown up into a somewhat attractive twenty year old. He was handsome enough that despite his complete inability to flirt, he’d managed to get several girlfriends over the year.

Not that Richelle  _cared_. They were just friends, and nothing more, and it’d be lovely if people would stop asking if they were dating.

“Your old place was nice enough,” she added, crossing her ankles together. Tom made a face, sitting across from her on a box named  _Things, I guess, moving day will a surprise_.

“My roommate also wanted me to move out,” he reminded her, sticking out a foot to nudge hers gently “Remember? The whole discussion about how he has a girlfriend now, and he wants her to move in, so he doesn’t need a roommate anymore?”

She sniffs “I wasn’t even there for that conversation.”

“Yes, but you were the first person I told.”

“Whatever. That’s not the point.”

Tom leans forward, resting his elbows against his thighs and frowning at her “Then what is the point? Are you going to start criticizing me again?”

“All my criticisms are valid,” she replies with a toss of her hair “And the point is that even on a budget, you could’ve gotten a nice place.  _I did_.”

“Yes, but you’re also insanely lucky,” he tells her, getting to his feet and holding out a hand for her to take, which she grudgingly accepts “You’re the only person I know who can live in such a nice place on their own and find it affordable.”

“If I was lucky, I wouldn’t be helping you right now.”

“You’re required to help me move,” Tom says with a grin, ruffling her hair until she pushes him away “You’re my best friend. It’s in the contract.”

“Which I never signed.”

“Are you saying we’re not best friends?”

He actually sounds somewhat offended at the idea of them being anything less than best friends, and she rolls her eyes. Out of all the members of Teen Power Inc she ended up staying in touch with, and inadvertently becoming best friends with, it just  _had_  to be Tom. Sometimes, she wonders if the universe is playing a joke on her.

 She grimaces, running a hand through her hair. “All I’m saying is, I don’t remember agreeing to help you move.”

“Don’t worry Rich,” he says, disappearing into his (stove less) kitchen “I won’t tell anybody you helped me out. It’ll be our little secret.”

“It’s not like you have anyone you can tell. I’m your only friend.”

She hears him laugh, but she’s right, technically. They both have other friends, of course, but their other friends don’t really understand Tom and Richelle the way Richelle and Tom do. They’ve known each other since they were kids, they’ve been to hell and back together; they have the kind of bond that you can’t form overnight. He’s the only person besides her family from her life in Raven Hill that she still talks to, and a part of her needs it. And, joke by the universe or not, she’s glad for his presence.

But he’s still unpacking the boxes on his own.

**iv.**

Since the age of fourteen, Richelle’s had a hard time feeling safe. When you’re exposed to as much danger as she was during her teenage years, it’s hard to feel like everything’s going to work out. She’s faced death far too many times to believe that.

But sometimes, when she's with Tom, she feels relatively safe, and genuinely happy. She isn't sure if it's because his easy lopsided grin or willingness to do almost anything to make her laugh or because he knows her better than anybody else.

And even though once upon a time, he would've been the last person she'd expect to fall in love with, it doesn't surprise her now.

The first time they kiss is at some weird art show he brought her to, where they’re served cheap cider instead of champagne and all the art is some weird, wannabe Picasso things that one of his friends made. He’s helping her into her coat when the night ends, and he’s on the verge of saying god knows what when she turns around to kiss him instead.

He takes her out on a proper date a week later, and kisses her goodnight when he drops her off, and from that point on, they’re dating. Officially.

Despite all his flaws (and there’s plenty of them, she’s pretty sure Nick had a physical list back when they were in high school which was five pages long, front and back), Tom is a fantastic boyfriend. He messes up every now and then, because he’s Tom and it’s been ages since he’s been in a proper relationship, but it’s more bad than good. He takes her out to dinner and compliments her outfits and kisses her cheek as a greeting and lets her borrow his jackets. She feels happy, and right now, that’s all she really needs out of a relationship.

One night, about three months in to their relationship, they’re cuddled on the couch whilst she forces him to watch _Keeping Up With The Kardashians_ (which he tolerates for Kanye’s appearances), when he nudges her.

“Hey, Princess?”

She’s glad it’s an ad break, because otherwise she wouldn’t really be up for listening to whatever ridiculous thing Tom’s bound to say. She turned to him with a grimace, raising an eyebrow.

“I love you,” he tells her, and she frowns, somewhat surprised, because that’s the last thing that she expected him to say. In the past, with all her boyfriends, she was always the one to say _I love you_ first, and it feels weird to hear it before saying it. But it’s nice, and she’s thankful for it, because she loves him too, of course she does, and it means everything that he loves her back.

“Uh, Rich?” He asks, running a hand through his hair “Did I do something wrong? Is it too soon, because-”

“Oh god, no,” she smiled, shaking her head slightly “I’m just surprised. But it’s fine. I love you too – even if you are an idiot.”

Tom rolled his eyes with a laugh, and as she leans in to kiss him, she’s never felt more safe.

**v.**

They break up, eventually. All good things must come to an end after all.

One day, they were each other’s world, and they lived together, and they were always laughing and kissing and dancing and they felt safe and happy, and the next day, they didn’t.

She’d like to say that it was mutual, that they just grew apart, and they decided to end things but they went back to being each other’s best friends. That they still remained a huge part of each other’s lives, like they always had. She wishes she could say that.

Instead, Richelle Brinkley and Thomas Moysten end their relationship by screaming at each other across their nice little apartment littered with their shared possessions, and she makes him move out the next day. He always told her that she had a flair for the dramatic.

Richelle doesn’t ask who helps him move in to his new place now that she’s not there, doesn’t ask him much anymore. They’re broken up, and that means that everything they shared is broken. She doesn’t call him at 3am in the morning anymore when she can’t sleep because she remembers everything that happened when she was sixteen, doesn’t take him shopping for new clothes because his wardrobe is awful, doesn’t tell him she loves him each morning and each night.

Eventually, she’ll move on, and she won’t think about him as much. He’ll become nothing but a memory, the way all her old boyfriends do. She’ll fall in love again, and she won’t sit and wonder what it would be like to spend the rest of her life with Tom Moysten.

One day, he’ll be nothing more to her than an ex-everything; he’ll just be that tall, messy, painter she once knew who’s name may-or-may-not begin with T.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know. I really don't.  
> Title from Holy Ground by Taylor Swift. Summary/inspo from the Six Word Stories site.  
> For my misfits,  
> xx setsunas


End file.
